


A King and his Consort

by acervate



Series: A Smith and His Forge [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gold Sickness (Tolkien), Happy Stuff Too, I'll add more tags as i go, M/M, Marriage, Royalty, Weddings, thorin was a blacksmith now he's king!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-14 03:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11774754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acervate/pseuds/acervate
Summary: Epilogue Fic to A Smith and His ForgeAfter years of being cut from the royal line, Thorin is finally given the chance to take the throne. But Erebor is in dire shape, and being a king is no easy feat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at whompingwillowss.tumblr.com! send me asks about this or anything else!

Though he had been young, Bilbo still recalled the days of traveling with his parents.

From the moment he could walk, they had been off to Bree and off to Rivendell. The years that Belladonna and Bungo had spent trying for a child were over, and they were not about to test their luck again.

So, they showed Bilbo the wonders of the world instead, giving him a childhood they could give to no other. While the journeys to Rivendell were not an annual trip, every two or three years they made an effort to go to the Elven realm and explore a world beyond their own.

Though 20 years was not very long to a dwarf, it was too long for a hobbit who had been itching for an adventure.

In the spring following the Second Fell Winter, Bilbo Baggins packed up Bag End, signed it off to the Gamgees, and followed a company of 13 dwarves towards Erebor.

 

* * *

 

In a few hours, Bilbo had packed his clothes, his favorite books, and all the prized possessions the Ereborian dwarves’ ponies could handle. Truthfully, it wasn't much. His old furniture would be used by the Gamgees, and what they didn't want they could give away. 

Lobelia would not be coming for his silverware and fine china, so Bilbo asked Hamfast to give it to the Took side of the family. His aunt Donnamira would know who to pass it on to.

It wasn't hard to physically sign Bag End away. A quick contract, signed by both Hamfast and Bilbo gave Bag End away to the Gamgee family. No money, no waiting. Just a handshake and Hamfast’s teary promise that he would treat it well and that they were to come visit.

But as Bilbo stood in the front hall, his walls stripped bare of their pictures, his coat hooks empty of cloaks and scattered boots, it finally began to set in.

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked quietly. Bilbo was silent as Thorin came up behind him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The hobbit grabbed his arm and squeezed, taking in a shuddering breath.

“I never pictured myself anywhere else.” He whispered. “Even with going to Rivendell so often, I thought…I thought I’d be here until I died, just like my parents.”

Dread filled Thorin’s stomach. When he had decided to take the throne, he hadn't asked Bilbo. So caught up in the joy that he _succeeded,_ he never asked his One what he wanted. After, Bilbo had assured him how wonderful it was; that he needed an adventure, and after all, he couldn't fit everyone’s family in Bag End.

But now, Bilbo had tears shining in his eyes. He had changed from his haphazard nightshirt and trousers into actual clothes. Complete with cravat and jacket, he looked just as he did when Thorin had first met him.

What had been a jammed door was now a journey across Middle Earth.

“Bilbo--”

“Oh, Thorin don't.” Bilbo gave a shaky laugh. “I know exactly what you're thinking, and _no_ , I do not want to stay here. This hasn't been my home since my parents died. Until you lot came around, it was just the place I lived in.”

“Home is where the heart is.” Thorin murmured, and Bilbo smiled.

“My mother loved that saying.” Bilbo turned in Thorin’s embrace, and thought of the portraits of his parents, wrapped and tucked away safely. “My father would be beside himself with the thought of me going to Erebor but...I think he would have wanted to visit it sometime.”

Thorin smiled gently and kissed Bilbo softly. The hobbit patted his chest as a smile broke out across his face.

“Well then. Let's go, shall we?”

And they were off.

 

* * *

 

The journey to Erebor was neither difficult nor easy. Bilbo’s experience with adventures had been years ago, and the world looked very different to a fauntling then it did to a grown hobbit. 

The council of Ereborian dwarves had not packed extravagantly. Though Thorin was set to become their King, he was not given the pomp and circumstance that normally followed such leaders. They were more focused on getting him back to Erebor than comfort at this point.

Such things didn't bother Thorin. His journeys before had left him starving and exhausted, poor and grief stricken. Now, he had a company of 13 at his side, and his One in his heart. As such, Thorin couldn't care less about sleeping in a bedroll or having to ration food. For the first time in his life, travelling was not a sorry affair.

It was a beginning.

Thought they passed it, Bilbo did not wish to stop in Rivendell. He had seen his friends only months prior, and he knew that he would see them again when Thorin became King. He knew it would only cause problems to try and get an entire troupe of dwarves to play nice so he could socialize, and steadfastly refused Thorin’s offer to visit.

Bilbo wanted to see someplace _new_. He knew of Elvish architecture, of their books and their tales. He knew their people and their culture.

In a few short months, Thorin would be King and Bilbo would be at his side. He was just a simple hobbit, the same way that Thorin was a smith. Both had been raised on stories of grandeur and myth. Now, it was time for both of them to learn who they were to become.

On the road, Bilbo and Thorin continued their Khuzdul lessons. While his writing was near perfect, he was still having trouble speaking. Thorin assured him that it was all about accent; Khuzdul was a low, choppy language that had a certain manner of speaking. Bilbo was more used to flowing languages like Sindarin. With time, his pronunciation would improve and he would speak like a native eventually.

It was through his speaking that Bilbo met Deíden, and by Yavanna did that dwarf aggravate him! While he was no supporter of the late Frór, he was far more conservative than some of his fellow Ereborians. The dwarf considered himself to be neither of old ideals or new; which would have been nice, if it were actually true.

They were only a few days into their journey, having passed Rivendell only yesterday. Though Bilbo (mostly) knew the names of the other dwarves travelling with them, he had not yet been part of one of Thorin’s meetings with them. It didn't bother him; he figured Thorin was simply learning the ins and outs of kingly business.

Bilbo had been sitting by the fire with Thorin when they stopped to camp for the night. Parchment laid out on the ground, they were practicing words and phrases that were particularly hard for Bilbo to manage when Deíden approached.

“My lord!” Both Bilbo and Thorin looked up to see the dwarf’s face was very flushed, and he had his hands clenched at his sides.

“Yes?” Thorin said, raising an eyebrow. He knew that Deíden was increasingly frustrated with Thorin’s lack of experience in politics. Their ideas had begun to clash at each meeting, and Thorin was just as tired of the dwarf as he suspected Deíden was of him.

“Forgive me if I am mistaken,” he began. “But is...ah, is _he_ speaking Khuzdul?”

Bilbo jerked back at his tone. The blatant dismissal of who Bilbo was irked the hobbit, but the absolute distaste in the dwarf’s voice is what got him. Speechless, Bilbo turned to look at Thorin.

Thorin’s look was positively thunderous, his eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled into a tight line. Deíden stepped back a bit, but held Thorin’s gaze.

“Yes, _he_ is. Master Baggins, as you may refer to him, has been learning Khuzdul since Yuletime. Is something the matter?”

“Well!” Deíden huffed, and Bilbo nearly laughed at the sheer nerve of the dwarf. “My lord, might we have this conversation in private?”

“I see no reason to.” Thorin countered. Bilbo looked around and saw the company watching the encounter with thinly veiled interest. “Need I remind you that he shall be my consort upon my coronation? Do you expect him to help me rule without knowing the language of his people? Or, should he communicate solely through miming?”

Fíli clapped a hand over his brother’s mouth when Kíli laughed, and Deíden shot a quick glance at them before speaking again.

“Of course not, my lord! But, the people of Erebor do know Westron, and they will manage without having to carry on a conversation in _our_ language with him!” Bilbo would give Deíden credit for standing his ground and not backing away from Thorin’s clear anger. Despite the man’s toadish behavior, Bilbo took pity on him.

“Well, as it stands, I already know some Khuzdul.” Bilbo patted Thorin’s arm. “Can carry on a right conversation, thank you very much! As I see it, if your King has no issue with my learning, why should you?”

Deíden’s mouth thinned, and he clearly bit back the urge to utterly ignore Bilbo. The rest of the camp was now watching with wide eyes, waiting in anticipation.

“ _I_ have no issue with it.” The dwarf quickly said. “My lord, I simply worry what the reaction will be in the kingdom! My sincerest apologies, _Master Baggins_ , but you are not from Erebor. Already, your status as outsider puts the rule in danger. I believe most will tolerate you for being the lord’s One, but for speaking our language? I believe not!”

Thorin stood sharply, and the company all began to rise in Bilbo’s defense. But Bilbo simply, patted Thorin’s arm again and stood himself

“While some of those who favored the late king might find fault with me, I daresay those who have been ignored and wronged will find it in their hearts to focus more on improving their personal lives than worrying about what language their king’s consort speaks. If there is truly such an opposition, I simply won't speak Khuzdul in public. I don't plan on teaching it to every person who comes to visit Erebor, so I see no issue. How’s that?”

Bilbo finished with a smile, finally managing to catch Deíden’s eyes. The dwarf’s face was red with embarrassment, and he simply nodded.

“I am glad that is settled.” Thorin said. “Now, if you excuse us, I do believe a walk is in order. It's a very beautiful night.”

Thorin took Bilbo’s hand and led him towards the nearby woods, just as Kíli burst out, howling with laughter. The buzz of the camp faded as they walked, blending in with the noises of the woods.

“I cannot _believe--_ ” Bilbo began, and was promptly cut off as Thorin pulled him close and kissed him. It was deep and hungry, and Bilbo nearly melted into the embrace.

“Never in my life had I imagined I would be so lucky to find someone like you.” Thorin panted when they broke apart. “You beautiful, wonderful hobbit--”

Thorin kissed Bilbo again, gentler, but still starving for his touch. Bilbo kissed him back for a minute before pulling away.

“Yes, I love you too, but Thorin what do you _mean_ I will be ruling beside you? You told me a consort has no powers! I thought I was just going to have a pretty title!”

“Bilbo, you are a born diplomat and leader.” Thorin grinned. “I cannot promise you executive power, but Mahal smite me if I won't use your counsel! I want you beside me at meetings, helping me to decide what is best.”

Bilbo stared at him with an open mouth, utterly gobsmacked. “I-I’m just a hobbit, Thorin!”

“And I have no idea how to be king.” Thorin replied. “But we will figure it out together. You have skills that I lack Bilbo; I doubt I can be successful as a king without you helping me.

Bilbo broke into a fit of giddy laughter, and put his head on Thorin’s chest. “Oh, you are absolutely mad. Hamfast will be beside himself when I send him a letter!”

Thorin grinned and pulled Bilbo into another kiss.

After that night, Bilbo’s Khuzdul lessons continued as normal, and Thorin insisted he sit in on meetings from the on. Though it was mostly Thorin being instructed on the state of the kingdom and past issues he had no idea of, it gave Bilbo a sense of importance to be at his side for it.

 

* * *

 

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. 

Bilbo learned how to live on the road, without the comfort of his armchair or the luxury of his handkerchiefs. He was glad they had left in mid spring, for the air was warm enough at night and after a hot day, a cool river or stream could usually be found nearby. It took a few days for him to grow used to riding a pony by himself. Before, it had always been Thorin and himself sharing Minty, Thorin holding the reins while sturdy behind Bilbo. Now, Bilbo rode a pony named Myrtle and Thorin was by his side as often as not. The company’s voices were loud and bosom enough to reach everybody on their ponies, and Bilbo didn't often have to fall back or ride further up to catch what someone was saying.

The road was difficult in some places, where it would rain for days and at night Bilbo would have to huddle close to Thorin under a sopping wet cloak without a fire. Other nights it was so hot he would sleep an arms length from Thorin, fingertips just brushing in the oppressive heat. It would be a few days without any sight of a stream or river, and their water supply would begin to run low.

But in the end, it would always fix itself. The rain would stop and their clothes would dry, and empty canteens would find themselves filled with fresh water. The road went ever on, winding over mountains and hills, through forest and pastures. After nearly 3 months of being on the road, Laketown finally came into view.

Thorin had looked to the horizon many times on their journey, but no location was as close to Erebor as Laketown. Though it was still a ways off, the snowy peaks were clear to him, and Thorin and his company stood and simply gazed at the mountain. While the sight of the mountain during their first journey had only commanded the attention of those who once lived there (though, Bofur did whistle in admiration), the entire company now stood shoulder to shoulder, all attention captured by the Lonely Mountain, and the kingdom that lay within it.

Thorin’s throat seemed to close abruptly, and he drew in a shuddering breath. Beside him, Bilbo grasped his hand tightly, and leaned against him. Bilbo could feel the majesty of the mountain ahead of them, and the sheer thought of what it held for him was both enthralling and terrifying. He was no longer a bachelor of Bag End, a simple hobbit of the Shire. He was now the One of a dwarf, and the soon to be Consort of of Erebor.

Bilbo swallowed heavily and let Thorin pull him in close.

Dis and the rest of the caravan had reached Erebor nearly two days earlier. She had sent a quick letter via raven that had caught them as they finally left the Old Forest Road and neared Laketown. There had been debate about whether or not to travel through Mirkwood and ask for the Elvenking’s guidance, or to take the longer Old Forest Road.

The Elvenking was no friend of Fror, but Thorin did not know him. Surely, he had been alive at the time of his grandfather, and if so, did he not question his disappearance? There was too many unknown factors in travelling through Mirkwood. Besides, the Company had travelled the Old Forest Road before, and it would only lengthen their trip by another day and a half. So, the Road was taken, and they ended up safely in Laketown, all politics aside.

So close to Erebor, Thorin did not wish to stay in Laketown. It was early morning when they reached the boundaries of the lake, and if they continued on Erebor would be reached by suppertime. Thorin knew Dís was dying to see her sons, and Mahal be damned, he would not let his Company remind him of the incident from last time.

When the group approached the bridge into Laketown, two bored looking guards finally snapped to attention, watching as the group drew in closer. Though they were used to dwarves, Thorin still had the distinct feeling that he was being looked upon as different.

 _Or_ , he thought, looking down at Bilbo, _perhaps it is even odder for them to see a hobbit._

“I am Deíden, son of Deílur. We are the last of the army that set out in winter, and we will be returning to Erebor. Open the gate!” Deíden announced, staring the men down. One man rolled his eyes as he went to do so; Thorin could only guess that he had prior experience with the dwarf.

“Welcome back, Master Deíden.” The other man replied. “Always a pleasure.”

Deíden huffed and urged the group along through the gate, muttering something about the state of the guards.

“Keep your head low and walk quickly, my lord.” Deíden said to Thorin. “Though most of Laketown know that there is to be a new king, they know nothing more. We shall draw as little attention as we can.” He cast an unreadable look at Bilbo before sighing and beginning go walk ahead of the group.

Thorin mumbled a curse in Khuzdul and Bilbo nearly laughed.

“There shall be many like him.” Bilbo shrugged. “And even more who are not. Don't let it bother you.”

“It bothers me nevertheless and will continue to.”

“No bad moods now, I don't think Dís would like to find you acting so sour.”

He was right, Thorin knew. Any sign of displeasure and Dís would be asking why, after two long years of separation he could not manage to be in a good mood for _once_. The thought of finally seeing her again was like a punch to the stomach; it knocked the breath right from his chest and forced him to admit yes, he did miss her a lot more than he would ever acknowledge.

Frerin’s communications had been lacking as per normal; the dwarf hated to write letters, and as such Thorin had received only three small notes from him during all two years. While such characteristic behavior did ease some of the burden in Thorin’s heart, he still missed his younger brother dearly. But Mahal be damned, if he could not behave, Thorin would not hesitate to kill him.

A short while later, the group and all their supplies were on a boat, headed towards Erebor. Two other dwarves from Erebor had been stationed at Laketown since Dís arrived, awaiting Thorin and the rest of the group. The boat was owned by a man named Bard, who watched them with shrewd, yet benevolent eyes.

While not overly friendly, he did not rebuff Bilbo’s greeting to him and was kind in his own reply. After loading their ponies onto the boat, they were off, sailing towards their final destination.

Thorin walked towards the front of the boat, fingers holding onto the wooden bow as the kingdom creeped ever closer. The sense of trepidation that had filled him the last time he came to Erebor was back, but it was different. No longer did he worry about being recognized, or where to find old hideouts. Now, he had the weight of a crown awaiting him, and the lives and trust of all his future subjects on the line. Even with the best of intentions, could he truly undo the damage done by Frór?

Thorin felt a hand slide up his arm, and smiled slightly as Bilbo leaned against him. The late summer wind ruffled his hair, sweeping through with a light coolness that spoke of changing seasons. So close to the mountain, the temperature was lower than the rolling hills of the Shire and Bilbo felt it acutely. Thorin noticed the way he crossed his arms against the wind and turned, opening his arms and drawing Bilbo in.

Bilbo’s back pressed firmly against Thorin’s front, Thorin wrapped both arms around his One and sighed deeply. Bilbo smiled to himself and placed his hands on Thorin’s arms, simply taking in all that had happened in their lives.

“Imagine if they hate me as king.” Thorin mused. “Imagine if I can't fix their problems.”

Bilbo shook his head. “You're just what they need. No one knows the injustice of Frór’s rule better than you. Besides, dwarves are resilient.” Bilbo nudged him with a smile. “If they can fix it, they will.”

Thorin smiled and kissed the top of his head. Looking out again, the abandoned city of Dale was nearing. Though it had been deserted since he was a dwarfling, Thorin remembered his mother’s stories of the grand markets. If it was in his power, he would see it restored.

“Whatever happens, we’ll make it through.” Bilbo told him softly. Thorin squeezed him closer and nodded.

“Together.”

 

* * *

 

Bilbo stared in wonder as they entered the front hall of Erebor, gazing at the smooth stone and immense statues. The hall was lit by torches and a few windows on the stone face let in the setting sun’s rays. It cast a warm glow on the cool stone, highlighting the beauty of the mountain’s interior. 

His hands shook with awe, one clasped with Thorin’s still. He looked over at him and saw the dwarf’s face calmer than his own, but still floored by the beauty of Erebor. The front gate and hall was part of Erebor’s royal wing, and as such, only the wealthy, the important, and outside diplomats would ever see such beauty.

There were many other entrances to Erebor, but none as visible as the front gate. The rest blended into stone or into foliage, and were used by merchants and working folk to leave the mountain. Thorin had only ever seen the lowest levels of Erebor, where the thousands of miners worked tirelessly to provide materials for the rest of the mountain.

Thorin took a shaking step forward, eyes taking in all that had ever been above his reach.

“ _Amad! Adad!_ ”

Thorin’s eyes jerked to directly down the hall as Fíli and Kíli took off running. Dís, Víli and Frerin, as well as Gloín’s wife and son were hurrying towards them. Dís had her arms stretched wide, grinning madly as Fíli and Kíli slammed into her, embracing her tightly. Víli laughed as he wrapped his arms around his family, and swiped at his wet eyes.

“Thorin!” Frerin’s sing song voice met his ears and he grinned at his brother. Frerin was sauntering over with his arms spread wide, waggling his eyebrows. Thorin rolled his eyes but hugged his brother nonetheless, then leaned back and smashed their foreheads together.

“Damn that hard head of yours!” Frerin laughed, rubbing his forehead. He turned to Bilbo and grinned even wider before giving an overzealous bow.

“Frerin, son of Thráin, brother of this clot, at your service.” He said as he rose. Bilbo smiled at bowed in return, and stuck out his hand.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours.” He replied, laughing when Frerin grabbed his hand with both hands and shook hard. Thorin rolled his eyes again and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Ori did your image justice in the sketch he sent.” Frerin said, and Bilbo turned to Thorin with a raised eyebrow.

“He sent a sketch? I don't remember posing.”

Thorin flushed and gestured in Fíli and Kíli’s direction.

“Yes well, you know--”

“Thorin!” Dís’s voice rose above the commotion of the group, and she pinned Thorin to the spot with a fierce glare. “What is this about you trying to run off from the Shire?”

Bilbo looked at Dís with an amused expression as she advanced towards Thorin, her dark eyes alight. She turned to Bilbo and bowed, smiling for a moment.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Bilbo.” She greeted, then reeled on her brother.

“The number of things we have to talk about, brother dear!” Dís, despite being nearly two heads shorter than Thorin pulled him down by the shoulder and smashed her head into his. Thorin jerked back with a grumble of pain, rubbing his forehead. Bilbo looked beside himself with mirth, watching as Dís smacked her arm against his chest.

“The boys have kept me updating, and I _will_ be hearing full stories over dinner. Bilbo, I would love to hear your side as well.” Dís smiled at him again, and the last bit of unease he had felt over meeting her dissipated. Bilbo had not feared Dís’s attitude, despite all the horror stories the company had told him. He had only worried of whether or not she would approve of him.

Based on the way she was busy with questioning the extent of Thorin’s pig-headedness, rather than Bilbo himself, Bilbo figured he was quite alright.

 

* * *

 

Supper was as always, a merry affair. 

After being shown to the rooms where they would stay temporarily, the company changed from their travelling clothes into clean ones and readied themselves for supper.

Bilbo had drawn a bath for himself to wash up, sighing happily as he sunk into the steaming hot water. The bath was huge, sunken into the stone floor and decorated with crystals and gems. While he thought it extravagant, nothing could compare to finally feeling clean after months on the road.

“I knew you would be in here.” Thorin smiled from the doorway of the bathroom, already partially undressed. Bilbo sighed again and sunk lower into the water.

“It's so nice.” He replied happily, spreading out his tired limbs in the water. Thorin chuckled as he approached the bath, undressing himself and climbing in. Bilbo smirked as Thorin sighed in relief, settling his arms on the ledge of the tub.

“Told you.” The hobbit said, laughing when Thorin splashed a bit of water at him. They sat in the bath for a few minutes, simply enjoying the luxury they had missed. After undoing each other’s braids, they washed their hair and bodies, Bilbo relishing in the feeling of not being perpetually covered in dirt.

Finally, with pruned fingers, they both got out and towelled off. As Thorin wrung out his hair and dried it, Bilbo looked at himself in the long mirror that was on one wall.

“I’ve certainly lost weight.” He muttered, looking at his once rounded stomach. His arms and legs were leaner now, the muscles more visible. While he had not starved on the road, it was much less than he had been used to, and not nearly as hearty.

Thorin came up behind him and kissed the side of his still damp neck.

“No less beautiful.” He muttered, smoothing one hand across Bilbo’s chest. The hobbit shivered, but still wiggled out of his grasp.

“There's no time for that, I’m rather hungry.” Bilbo remarked, walking off towards the bedroom. Thorin grumbled and waved a hand, nodding.

“But, I suppose if we have nothing to do later…” Bilbo added, snickering as Thorin raised a brow.

“How scandalous, Master Baggins.” Thorin replied with a grin. “Whatever shall the others say?”

“The others have no business knowing.” Bilbo laughed. “Now come over here, let me braid your hair.”

A short while later, Bilbo and Thorin were escorted to the dining hall where they would be eating. The rest of their group was already there, though most were just sitting down. This dining hall was small and personal, yet just as decorated with statues, gems and most of all, gold.

Thorin knew exactly who had decorated this dining hall, but choose to push it from his mind as he and Bilbo sat down. They all talked amongst themselves for a few minutes, mostly reveling in the rooms they had been given, before dinner was served.

The kitchens had made a near feast for them. The table became stocked with all sorts of food in a rush, filling every spot around their plates. There was everything they could want, from soups and stews, chickens, beef and pork, different types of wine and ale and much more. It was mouthwateringly savory, the scents of all the dishes swirling together into something that made all their stomachs growl with hunger.

The servants bowed when they finished setting the table, but before Thorin or anyone else could thank them, they had rushed back off to the kitchens. It made him uneasy to not give credit where it was due, but Thorin knew that this dinner was not made so he could try to fix all the mistakes of his predecessor. It was for them all to eat, and after months of travelling, just relax.

They all dug into the food with zeal, stocking their plates high with all the food they could manage. Their manners were certainly unrefined compared to those that normally sat and ate there, but none of them cared. They were all together again, as family and friends ready to embark on a new part in their lives.

By the end of the night, the adults were rosy cheeked from wine and ale. Dís had been firm with Fíli and Kíli, allowing them only some watered down ale. They griped and groaned about it, and before long Dís was lecturing Thorin on how her boys were not mature enough to have been part of the drinking contest at the Harvest Festival. She did thank Bilbo for caring for her sons through her hangover, and Dwalin recounted the story of just _why_ he and Thorin had gotten into that fight at the festival.

“You thought I was interested in _Bofur_?” Bilbo asked incredulously, then smiled in the dwarf’s direction. “No offense.”

“None taken!” The toymaker replied merrily. Thorin groaned and shook his head, earning the laughter of the other dwarves at the table.

“I was jealous and surly, alright? It's done and over with now.”

“Oh, only after you took me into the woods and started accusin’ me!” Bofur snickered, and the teasing started anew. Thorin sat there and beared with it, knowing that he did deserve it. The company had put up with his foul moods and pining for months; he was in no place to stop them from having some fun at his expense.

Bilbo did scoot his chair closer to Thorin however, as the company told more stories about his behavior before he confessed. Taking his hand on top of the table, Bilbo leaned in close.

“I’ve just found that I have absolutely nothing to do tonight, if you’d like to join me.”

To his own credit, Thorin did not blush. He instead sat back and took the teasing with an even better outlook. If the company’s attempts to embarrass ended up making Bilbo love him even more, who was he to stop it?

After dessert, it was close to midnight, and the group began to retire. Thorin and Bilbo were prepared to scamper off when they were caught by Deíden in the corridor.

“My apologies for bothering you, but King Daín wishes to speak with you. I know the night is late, but he was waiting until you were finished with dinner.”

Thorin quite nearly held Bilbo’s hand tighter and ran off, but the hobbit instead let go of him and patted him on the leg.

“Go on then, I’ll see you when you get back.”

Thorin bit his tongue and quelled his anger at being robbed of private time with Bilbo, and followed Deíden to Daín. Daín’s office was not far, but it was a few floors up from where their rooms were. As they walked, things became even more exorbitant, the walls now being covered in all sorts of riches. Thorin knew Frór to be absolutely mad in his gold sickness, but he doubted very few knew how severe it truly had been. The dwarf had been born a villain, but the sickness had rotted his brain and heart.

A quick knock on the door, and soon Thorin was standing in the private office of King Daín.

In sharp contrast to the surrounding corridor, the office was much tamer in terms of decoration. Thorin looked and knew that it had once been lavish, but was stripped back into something much simpler. While much of the furniture was still very expensive, the walls held nothing except for old portraits.

Thorin met eyes with Daín and could immediately see the resemblance between the two of them. While Daín had bright red hair, they had the same shaped nose and heavy brow, and there was a smart curve to his mouth that showed inexplicably in Dís. It hit Thorin than that Daín was family; not some distant relation, but a cousin that if things had been different, he might've been close with.

Daín looked unsure for a moment, then gave a small bow.

“Daín, at yer service.” He rose and Thorin could see the tiredness in his gaze. “Pleasure to meet you, Master Oakenshield.”

“Call me Thorin.” He replied without thought. Deíden looked to his king and nodded, then left the room. Thorin gave Daín a little shrug. “We're family after all.”

“Family.” Daín repeated, mouth turning up at the corner. “Are you so sure you wish to claim me as such?”

“The actions of one do not dictate others.” Thorin told him. “You’ve chosen your own path. A moral one.”

Daín gestured at a nearby chair. “Take a seat. Drink?"

“No, I’ve had enough at dinner.” Thorin replied as he sat down. Daín took a bottle of dark amber liquid from his desk and poured it into a crystal cup, then took a deep sip of it. He looked back at Thorin as he set the cup down.

“So you want to be king.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Thorin stared at his cousin. “It is my duty.”

“Duty, eh?” Daín drained the last of his drink. “You feel duty towards a kingdom that's given you nothin’ but grief? Nothin’ but hardship? I don't understand that.”

Thorin shifted, taking a breath. “I did not grow up knowing what had been taken from my family. I grew up dirt poor, but I was happy. This kingdom gave me my parents, my siblings. It made me leave, but in return I found my One. If my grandfather had never been cast out, who is to say that I would've been born?”

Daín sat heavily as his desk as he listened to Thorin. His face bore no judgment, only curiosity.

“I have lost many things,” Thorin continued. “For a long time, I hated the thought of this place. My grandparents and parents are dead because of Frór. To see their own family struck down, to have to flee their home…no dwarf should ever need go experience it. But if my grandfather had fled when he was meant to, had never returned, I would not be here.

“For every terrible thing, there is something good to replace it. I lost nearly all of my family, but I have gained them back as friends. I lost my home, but I found it in Ered Luin and the Shire. It has all happened because of Erebor. If I am given the choice to take the throne, I shall, because it is another blessing in my life that I will not ignore.”

Daín smiled slightly at the end of his explanation. He began to nod, and let out a chuckle.

“Yer just what the people need.” He finally said. “Erebor has been ruled for far too long by this side of our family. Believe me when I say that I am not my uncle. I think many know it, but I cannot gain their trust.”

“Will you remain here?” Thorin asked. Daín shook his head.

“There's a settlement out in the Iron Hills. Succeeded my father as their leader about 30 years ago. Been here helpin’--” Daín growled under his breath. “Helping _Frór_ with the throne for 5. It's been home since I came of age, and I miss it.”

Thorin nodded. “How long until you depart?”

“The sooner the better.” Daín muttered. “I’ll be here another month, maybe two. Once you're ready to take the throne, I’ll be on my way.” He smiled a bit. “There's this woman...name’s Aivora. When I left, I told her I’d be back in a few months. I think she’s still waitin’ for me. I know I don't have a One, but she’s the damned closest thing to it.”

Thorin thought of Bilbo waiting for him. He nodded at his cousin’s words with a lopsided smile. They both fell into silence for a few moments, before Daín sighed again. Thorin looked to his cousin and saw his face etched with exhaustion and a sudden grief.

“I know Frór was an evil dwarf. Turned this kingdom into a right hellhole. Plunged the people into poverty so he could cover these corridors with gems and gold.” Daín sighed. “But when I was young, I thought he was one of the greatest people I’d ever met. He spoiled me, and he was kind. After all that he did, you think it's wrong to still love him?”

Thorin hesitated before making a helpless gesture.

“We did not have the same experience with him. He was your family, and he treated you with care. You acknowledge his actions however, and you are trying to fix his mistakes. You knew him as your uncle, and you cannot shake years of love away.” Thorin gave him a half smile. “I think you're doing all that you can, and I won't question it.”

Daín looked at him with a satisfied grin. “You're a good dwarf, Thorin. I know you’ll do right by this place.”

 

* * *

 

Not long after, Thorin returned to his rooms. Daín has asked about Bilbo and the talk of him had made Thorin’s hands itch to hold him. Thinking of Bilbo’s words at dinner, he was near breathless and his heart thrummed as he opened the door to their rooms.

Walking through the common room, Thorin saw the thick wooden door was ajar and the warm glow of a fire peaked through. As he looked inside however, his dreams of a handsy evening faded when he realized that Bilbo was asleep.

Thorin approached the bed and hoped that perhaps Bilbo was merely dozing, but no, the hobbit was clearly, and utterly down for the count.

Thorin changed into his sleep pants, but went without a tunic as he climbed into bed next to Bilbo. With a tender smile, he brushed the hobbit’s curls away from his face, kissed him gently on the mouth, then gathered him in his arms and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! i'm back with this story after 2 years, and i'm already having a blast writing it. writing about erebor and the structure of a dwarvish society is a lot of fun, and i'll probably end up getting into the politics of the kingdom and what not, so please bear with me. 
> 
> i hope i did frerin and dis justice as characters, i'm still working on making more scenes with them for later on.
> 
> if anybody has requests of things they might want to see, let me know! i have some big things planned that i think everyone will like.


	2. Chapter 2

The first few days in Erebor had been simple. Their first goal was to settle in the mountain, get Bilbo’s books sorted out, and adjust to living halfway across Middle Earth. 

After his meeting with Daín, Thorin did not see him for a few days. It was no cause for concern. he knew Daín was doing everything he could to fix the damage done by Frór, and didn’t have much time to spare. It was no matter; after months on the road, it finally gave him time to relax. He had two years worth of news and events to catch up on with Dís, Víli and, Frerin, knick knacks to go through with Bilbo, and another side of Erebor to visit.

So for three days, Thorin enjoyed lazy mornings, watched Fíli and Kíli tussle with Gimli like they had when they were younger, and despite the embarrassment it brought, saw Bilbo soak up stories from Dís and Frerin, giving more stories from the Shire in return. When Dís and Thorin had their inevitable squabbles, with Frerin joining just to rile the two of them up even more, Bilbo sat back with Víli and simply laughed at them. It made Thorin’s heart flutter when he watched Bilbo with his family. He knew that Dís adored him; she had said so in letters. But to see them all in person, with Bilbo firing off snarky replies to Frerin’s jokes, laughing along with Dís and still fussing over Fíli and Kíli the way he had in the Shire--

By Mahal, his life had not been easy. But all the loss, all the struggling, he would go through it again and again if it meant Bilbo would always be his.

* * *

Four days after arriving in Erebor, Thorin awoke earlier than usual. The fire was down to embers, rather than the cool hearth that found them around 9 o’clock. It had to be earlier then, likely before 8.

Thorin was prepared to pull the bedcovers up to his chin and fall asleep again, when he realized what had woken him. The door to their rooms was being knocked upon, not frantically, but steadily enough to require attention.

Groaning, Thorin began to rise from bed. Bilbo shifted, and blinked groggily, looking at Thorin with heavy lidded eyes.

“Probably Fíli and Kíli,” he mumbled. “Always barging in.” Despite his words, Thorin knew Bilbo loved having the two heathens by. If it was them, there was no reason to be by so early.

“I’ll check.” Thorin told him, finally pulling away from Bilbo’s sleepy grip. Thorin yawned and grabbed his nearby robe, pulling it onto his shoulders and loosely tying the front.

He left their bedroom and went down the short hall into the common room. Fitted with a low table, a couch and two upholstered wooden chairs on either side of it, a large fireplace and still empty bookshelves, it was cozy and a fine place to have company.

Company, which was currently knocking at the door.

Thorin yawned again as he opened the door, and found not his nephews, but a messenger. It was a young dwarf, the lad looking younger than Kíli, and scared witless about waking Thorin up.

Thorin realized how terrifying it must’ve been to deliver news to Frór, and took pity on the poor boy. He gave him a tired smile and inclined his head.

“S-Sorry to bother you, my lord. I have a message from Lord Deíden, if you would take it.”

“Of course.”

“He says he shall be around at 9.” The dwarf said as he handed Thorin a piece of parchment. “You and Master Baggins should be ready for his arrival. Pardon my disturbance.”

The parchment said the same message the boy had just relayed, so Thorin simply nodded and thanked him.

“No disturbance, you are just doing your duty.” Thorin looked over his shoulder, itching to grab his coin purse and give the messenger something to ease his nerves, but the dwarf bowed lowly and dismissed himself.

Frowning, Thorin closed the door and headed back to their bedroom. Bilbo was still dozing, but woke again when Thorin got back into bed.

“Who was it?” He mumbled, shifting so that he was pressed up against Thorin’s chest. Thorin slung an arm over Bilbo and put his head back down on his pillow.

“Messenger. Deíden will be around at 9. Didn't say why.”

Bilbo hummed in understanding and opened his eyes, gazing at Thorin.

“Know the time?”

“Not 8 yet. We can sleep more.” Thorin told him, pressing a lazy kiss to his mouth. Bilbo’s mouth quirked up as he reached out and brushed some of Thorin’s hair away from his face.

“Sleep? I had the most wonderful dream though.”

Oh, Thorin knew _that_ tone. He stifled a grin and kissed Bilbo again, deeper this time. Bilbo ran his hand down from Thorin’s face to his chest, his fingers splaying over the open collar of Thorin’s sleep tunic. Thorin rolled onto his side and Bilbo hitched his leg over Thorin’s, their hips pressed flush against each others.

Thorin groaned as he moved and began to kiss at Bilbo’s neck. The hobbit let out a breathy sigh.

“You make it very difficult to follow traditions.” He said, laughing at Thorin’s affronted look.

“ _Me_? You're the one talking about dreams.” One of Thorin’s hands slid down Bilbo’s sides and hips, and he reached around to squeeze Bilbo’s backside.

Bilbo moved his hips against Thorin’s in retaliation. “You took that statement the way you wanted. I could've been dreaming about anything. Like food.”

“You go get biscuits when you dream about food.” Thorin replied with a breathy laugh, his hand now gripping Bilbo’s hip as he rolled back against the hobbit. Thorin was already more than half hard, and Bilbo was much the same. “If I’m so wrong, tell me about it.”

Bilbo grinned and kissed Thorin again, opening his mouth and bucking his hips as Thorin’s hand strayed dangerously close to his cock. Thorin’s other hand snaked around to sink into Bilbo’s curls, holding his head close.

“Never said you were wrong.” He said breathlessly. “You do make it difficult to follow tradition though. I think about your hands, and your mouth.”

Thorin shuddered, and pulled Bilbo’s hips tight against his own, their cocks brushing behind the layers of undergarments and sleep clothes. While Thorin wore pants and a tunic, Bilbo wore only a long nightshirt. The nightshirt would rise up his legs during the night, and if Thorin so wished, he could pull it up even further and run his hands over the bare skin of Bilbo’s legs.

“Have these dreams often?” He murmured, finally yanking Bilbo’s nightshirt up and running his fingers along the hobbit’s thighs and backside. Bilbo gnawed on his own lip as he pressed his hands to Thorin’s chest, feeling the strong, lean muscle beneath his fingers.

“All the time.” He whispered, moaning when Thorin’s hand finally splayed across his cock, palming him through his smallclothes. “My- _ahh_ -my favorite is when we're finally married.”

One of Bilbo’s hands ran down Thorin’s chest to his sleep pants and deftly undid the buttons holding them closed. His nimble fingers ran along the underside of Thorin’s shaft, still blocked from actually touching him by the dwarf’s smallclothes.

“Why is that?” Thorin groaned, his hips bucking against Bilbo’s at a now constant pace as they both rubbed and touched each other. He knew exactly why already; both dwarf and hobbit courting traditions forbid certain _activities_ from taking place until their wedding night, and though they had stretched hobbit traditions by sleeping in the same bed, they had resolved to abide by the traditions otherwise.

Even if it was becoming extremely difficult to do so.

“You know why.” Bilbo said, a keening noise rising from his throat when Thorin pulled his smallclothes down and finally touched him. Thorin’s warm, calloused hands were nearly enough to send Bilbo over the edge, but he took a shuddering breath as Thorin began to stroke him. “I can't wait to have you stretch me and fill me--”

Thorin kissed him fiercely, moaning when Bilbo pulled Thorin’s cock from his smallclothes and stroked him in time with the dwarf's own ministrations. It didn't take long for them both to reach their brinks, Bilbo moaning and jutting his hips, craving all the contact he could get.

“No ceremony, just say we're married.” He moaned, breathless as Thorin kissed him again. “I _want_ you.”

“Soon. Oh Mahal, soon.” Thorin could feel Bilbo getting close, the hobbit’s eyes falling shut and his mouth hanging open as he moaned and keened. Bilbo’s lips were kiss bitten and swollen, and his neck showed darkening spots already.

Bilbo was Thorin’s, so inexplicably tied to his heart, his mind, his _soul_ that the dwarf knew he would die without him. How Thorin had lived so many years without him he had no idea, but they were together now and nothing could tear them apart. Thorin loved and would love him for as long as he lived, and when Mahal would reforge his very existence, he knew that he would find Bilbo then too. He was his One, and the only being he could ever imagine adoring so much.

Bilbo’s eyes opened as he came, his gaze locking onto Thorin’s as he came undone in the dwarf’s embrace. Thorin followed not long after, making a mess between the two of them but neither cared. They lay next to each other for a few moments, chests rising and falling, hearts beating wildly in their chests.

“By the Valar,” Bilbo breathed. “What a way to start the morning.”

Thorin laughed, his voice low and rough. He kissed Bilbo again, with gentle brushes of his mouth against the hobbit’s. Bilbo sighed happily, blinking slowly as the hand that had been holding firmly onto his hair softened, and simply ran through the curls.

Finally, Bilbo moved and he grimaced at the mess on the bed and on their clothes.

“Well then. Up you go, I’m going to run the bath. Made a right mess we did.”

“Mm, but it was worth it.” Thorin smirked, reaching out to touch one of the marks he’d made on Bilbo’s neck. The hobbit stared at him with narrowed eyes.

“If you left a mark that my shirt won't cover, I will kill you.”

“There shall be no wedding if I’m dead.” Thorin reminded him, laughing at Bilbo’s eye roll. The hobbit pushed the bedcovers back and climbed out of bed, stretching with a groan. Thorin lazily smiled as he watched him, eyes taking in the dying firelight that reflected off the planes of Bilbo’s body, from his soft shoulders to the firm muscles in his legs. Dwarven beauty truly was nothing compared to him.

Thorin got up after a minute, following Bilbo into the bathroom. They bathed and dressed, breakfast arriving as Thorin put Bilbo’s braid back in. The first night on the road, Thorin had added the betrothal bead onto another braid in Bilbo’s hair, and Bilbo had done the same to him. Different types of braids had different patterns and ways of weaving the hair, and Bilbo was fast becoming an expert at it.

After eating, they had tea and waited for Deíden to arrive. Thorin wondered if it was for a meeting, not just with Daín, but with the entire current Royal Council. He knew that Balin had been shadowing Deíden already to prepare for his duties, but if Thorin was to be king, shouldn't he as well?

At 9 o’clock sharp, there were three quick raps on the door.

“Enter!” Thorin called. The door opened and Deíden came inside, followed by Balin, and two dwarf women Thorin didn't recognize. They all bowed to Thorin and Bilbo, the hobbit holding back laughter at Balin’s put upon face. After all, he had watched Thorin make a fool of himself for years, and now he had to bow?

“Good morning my lord, Master Baggins. May I present to you Lady Hulda and Lady Sanna.”

The women’s arms were laden with supplies. Both were finely dressed, in lush fabrics with detailed embroidery and stitching. They weren't sisters; there was no familial resemblance between the two of them. Hulda had caramel colored skin and curly, black hair, while Sanna was fairer, with brown hair. Both had their hair in an elaborate style, one that Thorin had noticed amongst many of the higher class dwarf women.

“They run an esteemed tailoring business, and will be taking your measurements today, as well as making the beginnings of your new wardrobe.” Deíden continued.

“New wardrobe?” Thorin repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I have clothes.”

“My lord, you are to become king.” Deíden stressed. “In order for you to begin to attend meetings alongside King Daín, you must at least look the part. I mean no offense, but we cannot have you meet with foreign diplomats wearing a shirt patched at the elbow.”

Thorin glanced at the thick blue tunic he was wearing, and indeed, it was the tunic he had tried to sew back in the Shire. Bilbo had fixed it for him, and he didn't particularly wish to part with it. While it was far from new, it was still cozy and wearable.

“Master Baggins, the same goes for you. Your clothes are not very dwarvish, and you should be making every effort to blend in.” Deíden said. Bilbo looked affronted, and Thorin opened his mouth to debate but Balin stopped him.

“Fashions aside,” he said. “New clothes are in order either way. You both need a royal ensemble for the coronation and other events. Thorin, it wouldn't kill you to put on a new shirt.” Balin met Thorin’s dirty look with a smile.

“Lady Hulda and Lady Sanna will be helping us at the moment.” Deíden continued. “There is currently no Royal Tailor, and while I have offered them the job, they are content to stay with their shop.”

Thorin looked over at the pair, and his eyes caught on the matching set of beads and braids. Thorin gave them a nod, and made a note to ask how long they had been married for.

“What happened to the previous Tailor?” Bilbo asked. Deíden’s mouth hung open for a minute, searching for the right thing to say.

“He was...he told Frór that it would be impossible to make something that he requested, and fled when Frór called for his head. Escaped with his beard, and I believe he made his way to the Iron Hills. I don't believe he would be keen on returning, even if asked.”

“I wouldn't either.” Bilbo muttered, shaking his head. A grim silence hung over them for a moment, before Balin put his hands together.

“Well then. Let's get started, shall we?”

* * *

 

Over the next three hours, Thorin was poked, prodded, and turned about like a doll as the seamstresses took his measurements and discussed his wardrobe. Bilbo didn't seem to mind the treatment at first; he chatted with the women and told them what shades of blue he liked on Thorin 

But when finer measurements were needed as the women went over possible designs, both Thorin and Bilbo were put into states of undress. Thorin wasn't shy about being shirtless; it was common enough amongst dwarves. But when Bilbo was asked to take off his waistcoat and unbutton his shirt, the hobbit’s face went bright red and he stammered.

“That's really not necessary--”

“I will not have the Consort looking ill fit!” Hulda had scolded. “You already dress smartly, Master Baggins. Don't let that change!”

Bilbo’s cheeks remained flushed as he took of his shirt, muttering what sounded like an Elvish curse under his breath. Hulda and Sanna seemed amused by his stuffiness, and Thorin would admit, it _was_ a bit comical.

“Hobbit sensibilities are easily offended.” Thorin remarked to Balin as Bilbo put his shirt back on, smirking when Bilbo glared at him. Balin gave Bilbo a kind smile.

“Now laddie, you know that Shirefolk are uptight compared to dwarves. Thorin wasn't even supposed to be kissing you the way he did.”

“Courting traditions do not make us uptight.” Bilbo sniffed. “Those rules are in place for good reasons. You saw how large hobbit families are! You have to discourage the youngsters for at least a little while.”

“Youngsters, he says.” Thorin shook his head. “You speak like an old man.”

“You're the one with strands of grey,” Bilbo shot back. “You’ll have gone completely silver by the time I get my first.”

Thorin looked to Balin for support, but the older dwarf just raised his eyebrows and smiled.

“Thrór and Thraín _did_ both go grey very young.” He remarked, and Thorin groaned at Bilbo’s victorious laugh. Sitting on the nearby couch with papers in his hands, Deíden shook his head.

“It truly is incredible to see Ones in person.” Sanna smiled. “I’ve only met one other pair in my life.”

“Truly?” Bilbo said. “I didn't think it was that rare. Besides Thorin and I, there's Dwalin and Ori, and Dís and Víli.”

“Mahal has blessed your family indeed!” Hulda exclaimed. “Master Baggins, are Ones common among hobbit?”

“Heavens no.” Bilbo waved his hand. “I hadn't heard of such a thing until I met Thorin. We have heard of the term soulmates that Men use, but most hobbits don't believe in that sort of thing. But, I _suppose_ that when you have someone like Thorin, it's a bit hard not to."

“He _supposes_.” Thorin groused. “I fell in love with his charm, as you can see.”

Balin shook his head. “Didn't think the bickering would start this soon.”

“We do not bicker!” Thorin and Bilbo exclaimed simultaneously. They stared at each other for a moment before Bilbo dissolved into a fit of laughter, Thorin grinning with such adoration that Balin rolled his eyes.

After redressing, the basics of Thorin’s wardrobe were discussed. He would have new tunics and pants, as well as a collection of cloaks, coats, robes, and belts. He would have another two pairs of boots at least, not to mention any other items they saw fit.

Thorin could hardly fathom it all; he owned only what he needed, and the extravagance of it all made his head spin. The way they talked of silk and expensive furs like it was common wool was beyond him.

For Thorin’s royal ensemble, it would be a mix of clothing, armor and dwarven regalia. There were years of traditions to follow when drafting the basis of his ensemble, and it was simple to update it with current trends. Both had brought parchment and charcoal, and with descriptions from Deíden, designs began to take shape.

For Bilbo however, Hulda and Sanna were at a loss. The bulky, layered fashion of dwarves didn't necessarily suit him; Bilbo refused the idea of boots, and Thorin couldn't picture him without a waistcoat. While Deíden insisted that Bilbo should look as dwarven as possible, Balin reminded him that no amount of clothing would disguise the fact that he was a hobbit.

Bilbo described to Hulda and Sanna what he typically wore, as well as what was considered dressed up in the Shire, but they both seemed unsatisfied. After all, Bilbo was no tailor, and his expertise was sorely lacking.

As Hulda and Sanna went over what to do Bilbo’s eyes suddenly widened, and he looked over at Thorin.

“Do you suppose Dorí would want to be the Royal Tailor? He did plenty of sewing in the Shire, made me a shirt for my birthday, remember? If anyone could figure it out, I’m sure it would be him.”

Thorin nodded. “That's a good idea. He had his own shop back in Ered Luin, I don't see why he wouldn't mind taking this on.”

“This Master Dorí, he's good?” Hulda asked. Thorin nodded again.

“Very good. Made his living back in Ered Luin as a tailor.” He replied. Hulda and Sanna looked thoughtful.

“If you trust his work, then there's no question.” Deíden cut in. “The sooner there is a Royal Tailor, the sooner your wardrobe can be made and preparations for your coronation can begin. Have you finished?” He asked the two dwarf women.

“Yes,” replied Hulda. “There are sketches, and all of the measurements and notes. It should be enough for Master Dorí to go on.”

“Marvelous!” Deíden said. “I can take your papers to pass onto him. If you follow me, I will deliver your payment for today’s work, and lunch will be prepared as well.”

Hulda and Sanna both nodded, then turned to Thorin and Bilbo. Bowing, they thanked them for the opportunity to work with them. Bilbo had grown flustered, still unaccustomed to the level of respect that was given to him. He was just a hobbit, despite whatever titles were bestowed upon him.

Deíden was the last out the door, bowing to Thorin and Bilbo again before dismissing himself. As soon as the door closed, Balin sighed.

“By Mahal! I still cannot tell if he is so stuffy simply because of his nature or if it is because of this job. Thorin, you ought to hope I don't end up like him.”

“Valar save me if you do.” Thorin muttered.

* * *

 

After lunch, Deíden arrived again with Dorí in tow. Deíden led them all to the Royal Taílor’s abandoned workshop. Dorí looked beside himself with anticipation, asking Thorin and Bilbo twice if they truly thought he was the right dwarf. After the second time, Dori seemed resolved, and his attentions turned to the clothing that he would be making 

“These are wonderful sketches.” He muttered as they walked along, swiping through the pieces of parchment. “Though I don't see anything for you, Bilbo.”

“Yes, well there was some debate on what I would wear.” He replied. “We figured you would find a nice level between dwarvish and hobbit fashion for me.”

“You certainly won't be wearing armor chest plates.” Dorí told him. “Doesn't suit you at all.”

They came to a set of thick, wooden double doors that Deíden produced a key for. He unlocked it and pushed the doors open, months of accumulated dust flying into the air and directly into his face.

While he spluttered, Dorí entered the workshop with near reverence. The room was enormous, bolts of unused fabric lining the walls and filling shelves, the multiple tables still covered in half finished projects and tools. It was well stocked, and with a little bit of cleaning, would be ready for use.

Dorí was beside himself, eyes scanning the room before zoning in on a bolt of fabric. Walking over to it, he ran his hand down the dark blue velvet fabric and looked at Thorin and Bilbo with utter delight.

“ _This_ will be perfect.”

After recovering from his coughing fit, Deíden took his leave of them. He told Balin there was no need for him to accompany him; instead he should stay behind and try to pose as a voice of reason. They all breathed a sigh of relief when he had gone, and Dorí immediately set them all to work.

While some might argue it was unbecoming for a soon to be king to be cleaning up a dusty workshop, Thorin had no such qualms. At Dorí’s instruction he helped to clean off one of the massive work tables, bringing bolts of fabric back to their places and helping to sort out various tools.

Dorí meanwhile, had been busily sketching away at parchment. Brows furrowed, his mouth quirked up at the side.

“That Deíden is awfully stuffy, isn't he? Makes it seem difficult to draft clothes for you, Bilbo. It's quite easy! How opposed are you to jewelry?”

“I don't particularly want to be walking around with seven gold necklaces hanging around my neck, but I don't hate it. You're already working on my wardrobe?” Bilbo asked.

“Thorin’s is simple.” Dorí replied dismissively. “What Deíden wants for him is standard wear, simply made with more expensive fabrics and more embellishment. I know sewing tunics and coats like the back of my hand! Yours will be more interesting to make.”

Within a few hours, the workshop was far more organized, and Dorí had laid sketches across the table, detailing what he planned for Bilbo. The basics of his current wardrobe remained; his linen shirts, waistcoats and knee length breeches were all included. Added onto it however, were more embellishments for his waistcoats, as well as surcoats of blue and red, with thinner belts and smaller buckles than normal dwarvish fashion.

Dorí suggested hair clips rather than any sort of necklace, but Bilbo shook his head.

“I was planning to cut it, so what is the point of a hair clip?”

The dwarves all stilled, and it dawned on Bilbo that he was the only one out of their group to even _think_ of cutting their hair willingly.

As Thorin opened his mouth to speak, Bilbo cut him off. “Don't even suggest I keep it long! If it grows anymore it shall just get tangled, and I don't plan on dealing with that.”

“You could braid all of it.” Thorin muttered. “No reason to cut it.”

“I like my hair shorter.” Bilbo stressed. “I think it's much too long right now. Besides, your hair is constantly ending up in my mouth when we sleep as it is! You think I want to have that hassle with my own?”

In the end, they conceded to Bilbo and Dorí left the idea of embellishment for later. With his sketches and his new workshop, he could get to work immediately.

“Depending on how soon Deíden wants you to have this, I’ll need assistants.” Dorí murmured. “Especially with the wedding being in two weeks--” Dorí cut himself off, realizing that he had been voicing his thoughts aloud.

Bilbo, Thorin and Balin were all staring at him, Balin looking absolutely resigned.

“Leave it to Dwalin to not tell me they’d exchanged the last gift!” He said, shaking his head. Dorí pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning.

“They were planning on telling everyone at once.” Dorí told them. “I had only known because Orí had asked me to make their wedding ensembles. Mahal, he’ll have my beard!”

Bilbo snickered. “He’s not that bad!”

“Oh yes he is!” Dorí exclaimed. “He’s got our _Amad’s_ temper, I always knew he would!”

Thorin chuckled. “Oh, I remember her. Only time I ever saw Norí looked cowed is when she was angry with him.”

Dorí turned to Bilbo who was clearly at a loss. “She died giving birth to Orí, years ago. Our _Adad_ had up and left when she was pregnant.”

“How awful!

Dorí frowned and nodded. “Indeed. He wasn't around often even before. _Amad_ loved him, but I wasn't bothered to see him go. Good riddance!”

Bilbo now understood why Dorí was so fiercely protective. He hadn't grown up as a brother to Norí and Orí, but rather as a parent. The same hard work that Thorin had put forth for Frerin and Dís was mirrored by Dorí. Bilbo wondered if he would've had the same dedication if he had siblings.

“Never mind that.” Dorí finally said. “I’ll be getting started on some things today, but if this is to be soon I’ll need help! Balin, that Deíden fellow can find dwarves for me, can't he?”

“I don't see why not.” Balin replied. Dorí smiled.

“Good! Then get out! Off with you, I’ll be sure that you two have what you need.” Dorí waved his hands at them, shooing them away. Dorí was notorious for being touchy with his work, even more so when it was important. It was an easy decision to stay out of his way.

As they walked away from his workshop, Balin told them that he had things to do. One of his first tasks was to bring Thorin up to speed on the current state of the kingdom. Balin had months of notes and reports to go over and revise, and would be expected to have briefed Thorin entirely within a week’s time. It was a hefty job no doubt, but Balin was driven and Thorin wasn't worried.

As Balin went off, Bilbo and Thorin made their way back to their rooms.

“It's still so odd to think you're royalty.” Bilbo said. Thorin raised a brow and smiled.

“Don't forget that you are as well.” He replied. Bilbo eyed him with a smile.

“You know what I mean. I remember you finding out that I was the grandson of the Thain and you nearly had a fit. Who would've known that you would become a king?” Bilbo paused, his smile fading. “That I would be a consort.”

Thorin stopped and caught his eye. “What is wrong?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, it's nothing.” At Thorin’s insistent look, he spoke again. “I’ve just grown so used to having the company around all the time, for meals and for fun, that I worry it shall change. We’ll be so busy that we won't see them, and…”

“And?”

“It’ll be just like in the Shire.” He said, voice quiet. “Where you have family, but you shall never see them unless someone dies or they need something. It's lonely, Thorin. I never realized how lonely it was until you lot came along.”

Thorin put an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and drew him in close, kissing the top of his head. “It shall not end up so, _ghivashel._ While your family lived miles off, all of us are but steps away. We may not spend as many hours together, but you will not be alone. Never again.”

Bilbo’s cheeks colored and he nodded. “Oh alright, no need to be mushy. It's just me worrying, nothing else.” They reached their door and went inside. Bilbo yawned and walked towards the fireplace, where the portraits of his parents sat on the mantle. Smiling, he turned to look at Thorin.

“Mother always said she wanted to see dwarves. I think she’d be happy to have her picture here.”

In that moment, Thorin resolved that Bilbo would never be without family again.

* * *

 

The next few days seemed to fly by. Balin’s reports had brought both Thorin and Bilbo up to date on many of Erebor’s problems. Starving citizens, unemployment and corrupt laws seemed to be the worst of it, but Thorin brought up something else 

“Do you remember the guards?” He asked Balin. “The ones that would patrol the lower levels, keep us from going up.”

“Of course I remember.” They were both sitting in Thorin’s common room, Bilbo having gone to visit Dís for tea. Thorin and Balin sat opposite from each other at the low table, both smoking on their pipes. Thorin’s Old Toby had just run out, and he’d nicked some from Bilbo’s pouch.

“I wonder if Daín knows.” Thorin said. “Like you said, he’d already rooted out most of the council members who supported Frór’s practices. But does he know about the guard system? There's no common folk making their way up here yet, I’ve looked.”

“There is no official law keeping lower class separated.” Balin replied. “It was all a word of mouth order, and if he asked any guard they could easily deny it. He might have some clue, perhaps, but he surely doesn't know the full extent.”

“We must tell him. It would do no good to fire the entirety of the guards; there were a few good ones. But the ones that did patrols at least, they need to be addressed.” Thorin told him. “I still remember their names, their faces. I am more than willing to bet that if we went down there now, one of them would be administering _justice_.”

Thorin could easily recall the bloodied faces in the street. The guards with their fists and their gangs. The daily patrols that were made to address a supposed heightened crime rate amongst the poor had been a complete farce; Frór had used his force to brutalize the poor and the minorities.

“We shall have to speak with him. Though we have our memories, we need current accounts. Something that cannot be disputed.” Balin said. “If Daín is willing, perhaps the best thing is to go looking ourselves. Your new wardrobe had not yet arrived, and I have not gone looking for new clothes either. We could go.”

“Bilbo would be worried sick.” Thorin muttered. “He’d want to come with us.”

“He can't, of course,”

“Certainly not. If he’s lucky, he could pose as a child but he’s too smart mouthed for that. No, I think we need Daín to come with us.”

Balin nodded, breathing a deep puff of his pipe. “A good look around would give him an actual idea of what the poor live like. He has a good heart, but he has no idea. One may talk of starving, but to see sunken faces is entirely different.”

“Would we be able to get him to go without his own guards though?” Thorin asked. “The Royal Council will no doubt oppose it, especially if he has no protection.”

Balin sighed, blowing smoke out. “We won't know until we ask. The Royal Council is there to dictate his actions as a ruler, not his personal decisions. If he truly wished to accompany us, they could not stop him.”

Thorin blew out a smoke ring, leaning his head back against his chair. It was hardly a plan; nothing more than a supposed course of action.

“We pose as newcomers.” Thorin said. “Daín’s personal guards pose with us as mere commoners. Once we get down there, there will be some type of beating happening. Those guards will let anything slip, they never shut up. If we step in, the attention will turn to us. It just might get worse. It would be the perfect chance for Daín to intervene."

Balin nodded slowly, then glanced at Thorin suspiciously. “You mean to get involved. Turn the beating towards yourself.”

“Yes.” He simply replied. “I’m sturdy, I can take a few hits. But the willingness to so quickly change targets will be more than enough evidence of their corruption. If I can get them to talk by getting punched, I’m willing.”

Balin shook his head, smiling slightly. “Bilbo will have your beard after.”

“He’ll be too busy patching me up to be mad.” Thorin shrugged. “I’ll be fine and he’ll get over it.”

Balin took a few more puffs, considering the course of action. He finally nodded again, meeting Thorin’s eyes.

“It will work. You just better hope it doesn't get out of hand.”

Thorin waved a dismissive hand. “No matter. Do you know Daín’s schedule?”

“I believe court will be ending in half an hour. We shall catch him then.”

Balin was right, and after court they found Daín in his office, all too happy to put off his paperwork for the time.

They told him of their plan, and he readily agreed. As king, he could not simply waltz into the lower levels and expect to find answers. He needed to blend in, needed to think differently in order to have things change.

Daín promised to go along with their plan and asked them about what they remembered from before, whether it was certain hot spots for trouble or certain names. Thorin and Balin gave all the information they could, and Daín asked them to meet him in his office first thing tomorrow. The Royal Council would not approve, Daín agreed, but the welfare of the kingdom was far more important.

Thorin and Balin left his office with their lips sealed; the plan for tomorrow would be kept secret, and Thorin would deal with Bilbo’s resulting grumpiness later. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope everyone liked thorin and bilbo's time in bed :^) i promise there will be some real action between them very soon!!  
> sorry if this chapter seemed slow, i just needed to establish some things so i can build up from it later. next chapter will have ori and dwalin's wedding and preparations for thorin's coronation so i hope everyone can look forward to that :)


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Thorin slipped away from bed, left Bilbo a note that said he had an early meeting with Daín, and their plan for action began. 

Thorin and Balin met in his office and were given old cloaks to hide their faces. Deíden had become aware of the plan, and though he didn't like it, he surprised Thorin by taking part in it. He too would travel down the the lowest levels of Erebor, easily admitting to Thorin that he had no idea of the conditions some truly lived in. Thorin found his opinion of Deíden to be improving, so he clapped the dwarf on the shoulder and thanked him for coming along. 

Daín came into the office a few minutes later, his usual finery downgraded to an old tunic that wasn't his size and pants that were patched at the knees. The traditional jewelry he was expected to wear was also missing, and he hardly looked like the king he actually was. The two disguised guards who would be accompanying them easily looked the part of migrants, and once the false names and professions they planned on using were set, they headed off. 

Flanked by undisguised guards, the group was led down the flights of stairs that would bring them to the lowest levels and the mines. As king, Daín was given updates on the state of the mines, of what was being discovered and any notable occurrences. Never had he stepped foot into one, nor had his guards. Only Thorin and Balin knew of the reality of working in Erebor’s poorest profession. 

Workers served long, grueling hours, where one would hold a pickaxe until their fingers bled and their hands were numb. Accidents were common; a worker would fall, or someone would lose fingers as they worked. There was no provided head protection, and many worked knowing that a stone could come loose at any time, and that no thick dwarven skull would save them. 

Those that oversaw the mines were the greedy and the wealthy. They looked to have the miners work for the least amount of money, and for the longest amount of time. Each mine had a set balance of money to be used for its maintenance and the workers’ welfare. But if no one actually came to inspect the mines and check if its overseers were truly using their budgets correctly, who was there to stop most if the money from instead lining the overseers pockets?

Thorin and Balin knew this, and had told Daín as much. The corruption of Frór’s rule could not be easily undone; there was over 200 years of injustice that had sunk deep into Erebor’s workings. Even with Daín doing everything he could, it would fall upon Thorin to fix the kingdom.

There were guards at every staircase once the levels of the mines were hit. They were there to keep the poor and oppressed separated, to prevent them from raising awareness of the conditions they lived in. 

Thorin could feel Daín stiffen beside him when they reached the first level of housing, the air thick with the smell of burning coal and fire. The three guards who manned the stairs stood in a firm line, blocking them from going any further. 

“State your business.” One of them said to Daín’s own guards. The one who spoke was a thin looking dwarf, with a heavy brow and permanent scowl. Thorin didn't recognize him, but he certainly didn't seem new to the job. 

“We have migrants.” One of Daín’s guards lied smoothly. “They said they came from the Ered Luin. Here looking to live and work.”

“Indeed.” The guard replied, staring at all of them closely. Thorin worried that he might recognize Daín, or even Balin, but his eyes slipped past them all. “It is alright with King Daín?”

“Of course. We have brought them ourselves directly from his court.”

“Hmph.” The dwarf snorted. “Don't see why he let them in. His intelligence seems to be lacking, but very wel. I’ll take ‘em down.”

“We have orders from the new Head Guard.” Another one of Daín’s guards said. “Master Dwalin has asked us to escort them specifically.”

The dwarf sneered, eyebrows turning down sharply. “Thinks he can just go changing tradition, eh? Seems like a right bastard.” Balin bristled, his eyes growing dark beside Thorin. “I’ll let you take them, but I’ll follow you. Never know what these new folk will do.”

Thorin resisted the urge to sigh in relief as they began to descend once more. They were without a doubt being brought to one of the lowest levels; the few migrants Thorin had met were never looked upon kindly. 

“What about you lot?” The same guard asked. “Have you a craft, or are you just looking to be freeloaders?”

“We are all smiths,” Balin said. “The one in the grey cloak is also a scribe.” He gestured to Daín, who wisely kept his face down. “There was not enough jobs to be filled in Ered Luin, so we have come here.”

“Don't needs smiths, don't need scribes.” The dwarf guard snorted. “You’ll all be miners from now on. Hope you didn't have have high hopes.” He laughed to himself, shaking his head at the group before turning forward once more. 

Thorin could practically feel Daín’s disbelief at the dismissal of their skill. There was far too many miners in Erebor, causing many to be forced to stay at home rather than work because shifts were already filled. Smiths were always needed for the immense amount of work, and scribes could be used anywhere. Mahal was said to give the gift of a certain craft to each dwarf, so the blatant ignorance of such a thing was beyond Daín. Thorin caught Daín’s eye and gave him a slight nod, reminding him to keep up his image. 

There was a tenseness in the air that sent Thorin reeling back over a hundred years. Thorin and Balin’s families had lived on the second lowest level, and the moment they stepped off the stairs and onto the ground, it was as if Thorin was 67 again, his heart beating wildly as he tried to think of how to escape from the news of his grandfather and father’s deaths, how to escape from the death sentence that was rapidly approaching his family. 

A shout caught Thorin’s attention and the memory faded, instead replaced by the scene unfolding in front of him. 

Up ahead, two guards crowded around a young girl, one holding her arm tightly. At her feet was a cloth sack that had come undone, the top of an old loaf of bread poking out. The food she carried was no doubt earned, but the guards did not need a truthful reason to abuse the lowest citizens. 

“I told you, this is mine!” The girl said. “I did not steal, it was paid for!”

One of the guards grabbed her face, his meaty fingers digging into her cheeks. 

“I don't believe you. Bread looks a bit fresh, doesn't it? I know that fresh bread catches a good price. You don't seem to be working in the mines, so how did you pay for it?”

The girl’s face flushed, and she swallowed heavily, clearly growing nervous. “I paid for it, I swear. The money is from my  _ Adad.  _ He works in the mines.”

“Does he now?” The guard said, turning the girl’s face slightly from side to side. “He shouldn't leave such a pretty girl like you unattended. Never know who you might meet.”

Thorin’s heart was stuck in his throat, knowing the way the guard spoke all too well. Despite being looked down upon, the poorest girls would still catch the eyes of guards. Thorin had shielded Dís from it, but that had not stopped it from befalling others. For those who could not make ends meet, sometimes the only work a woman could find was in a dark corner, servicing the wills of a guard. Thorin was frozen, wondering if this one would go so far. 

“I need to go home.” The girl tried. “Please sirs, I have a young sister who needs me.”

“Sister, eh?” The other guard laughed. “Bring her along and we’ll have a right party.” He grabbed the girl by the arm and crushed the old bread beneath his foot, the scale crust crunching under the sole. The girl’s face fell in despair as they laughed at her, her eyes wide and unseeing. Then they narrowed, and she looked directly at the one who had crushed her bread and spat in his face. 

“ _ Shekâl _ !” She hissed. Both of the men grabbed her and shoved her to the ground. When one of the guards kicked her in the stomach, Thorin’s feet were moving before he could think. 

“ _ Stop!  _ Leave her alone!” He shouted, breaking from the group and racing towards the girl. The guard that had been escorting him yelled and turned to Daín’s guards, clearly expecting them to go after him. Neither moved however, simply staring ahead at Thorin charged. 

Thorin grabbed one guard by the collar of his shirt and hauled him back, swiping his leg out and tripping the dwarf onto the ground. He stepped in front of the girl and blocked the punch from the other guard, grabbing his arm and bending it back. He pushed that guard aside and looked at the girl, his eyes determined as he nodded to her. 

“Get up! Go!” Wasting no time, the girl gathered as much of the bread as she could and took off, not daring to look back. Daín looked ready to intervene, but a hard look from Thorin told him to wait. As the guard he tripped stood, Thorin took a breath and allowed him to land a solid punch to his stomach. 

“You bastard.” The guard swore, grabbing Thorin by the neck and bringing a leg up into his stomach again. “Who do you think you are, huh? Assaulting a guard, that's punishable by death.”

“It is not assault.” Thorin gasped, the other guard kicking him in the back of the legs and forcing him to the ground. “It was in her defense.”

“Who’s gonna say otherwise?” The guard asked. “You? Nobody cares about the people down here! I can do whatever I please! Beat ‘em, steal from ‘em, make the girls mine. It doesn't matter!”

He punched Thorin across the jaw, and Thorin nearly saw white with the force of it. Another landed on his eye and his nose. He was beginning to see why Balin hadn't agreed with this part of the plan. 

“The king will know.” Thorin forced out as one guard put his boot on his back and pressed down, the heavy weight of the shoe and the dwarf himself making it difficult for Thorin to breath. 

Both the guards laughed. “Daín? Dwarf is worth nothing. He doesn't care for you, just the same as Frór didn't. I could kill you now if I wanted; rid Erebor of more scum.”

One guard pulled a knife from his pocket, the blade glinting. “We should shave ‘em. Worse than death in my opinion.” 

The guard with the knife landed a kick to his head, and Thorin saw stars, his vision blackening for a moment before his surroundings blurred around him. The two guards hauled him onto his knees and grabbed his face. He looked over to Daín and managed to nod, gasping in pain when the tip of the knife scratched into his skin, drawing blood on his cheekbone. 

Daín threw back his hood as his two guards surged forward, wrangling the other two away from Thorin and letting him drop to the ground. His stomach was tight with pain and the cut on his face was bleeding sluggishly. His eye hurt from one of the punches, and he was sure he would have a bruise. 

The guard that had been escorting them along reeled around, the color draining from his face as he recognized Daín. 

“On behalf of your  _ king _ ,” Daín said, suddenly moving forward and wrapping an arm around the dwarf’s neck, using his other to lock his head painfully. “You are under arrest. Deliberate ignorance of migrant adjustment protocol, suspicion of abuse and assault upon citizens, and allowing assault to occur without intervening. Complicity is just as bad as taking part.” Daín squeezed the dwarf in his grip, mouth quirking when the guard shifted in pain.

Balin had gone to Thorin and helped him stand, wrapping an arm around his waist to help support his weight. Thorin breathed heavily, his nose still bleeding and clogging his throat. 

“Bilbo is going to kill you.” Balin muttered. “Look at the state of you! Why didn't you stop earlier?”

“He didn't say enough.” Thorin spat blood onto the ground. “Wanted Daín to see how they act.”

“Yes well, I’m sure he’s prepared to dismiss the whole force at this rate.” Balin shook his head. “We’ll set something up, get these guards to name others.”

Thorin’s mouth quirked as much as it could. “Good. It's a step forward.”

“Your first meeting with the whole Council is in two days.” Balin sighed. “You're going to walk in looking like you've been run over by a pony.”

Thorin shrugged, wincing at the motion. “Maybe. Least we're doing something.”

Daín’s guards had brought rope to tie the hands of the guards with. Thorin had told them to expect trouble, and the length of rope served them well, restraining the guards and making it easy to lead them back up, headed towards the prison cells. Located away from all housing and work areas, Dwalin would end up looking over the three of them for the time being. 

Climbing the flights of stairs was no easy feat for Thorin, and by the time they reached the floor of the Front Hall he was breathing heavily, his chest tight and perspiration on his brow. Balin had considered bringing him to the Infirmary Wing, but knew that Thorin would only gripe if he was anywhere but his own rooms. Oín had not yet taken the place of Royal Healer, and would be free to tend to Thorin. 

They had just reached the corridor that held Thorin’s rooms when Balin and Thorin heard voices up ahead. Dís, Bilbo and Fíli and Kíli were walking down the corridor, obviously just coming back from a late breakfast. Kíli was telling a story and Bilbo laughed, his head turning to look ahead for just a moment when he noticed Thorin. 

The hobbit stopped, causing Fíli and Kíli to nearly run him over. His face had gone pale, and his eyes were wide with shock. Dís’s expression had gone still, her dark brows drawn together. 

“Not very good luck, is this?” Balin muttered, causing Thorin to sigh as Bilbo took off running, rushing to his side. 

“By the Valar!” He said, hands held up in front of him as he looked Thorin over. “You were at a meeting with Daín! What happened? Who did this?”

“It's alright,  _ ghivashel. _ ” Thorin mumbled, putting out his hand for Bilbo to take. Dís and the boys had rushed over as well, staring at him with unease. Dís looked painfully wary, nearly frightened, and Thorin’s sluggish mind remembered how bad this must look to her. For him to show up beaten was like a slap in the face, the image of Erebor being safe torn apart. 

“Ah, let's get him sat down.” Balin said. “He needs to lie down. Fíli, Kíli, go get Oín. There's a good lad.” 

The two boys took off, glancing back at Thorin in worry. Now supported by Bilbo on his other side, Thorin was brought into their common room and gently set on the couch. The pain in his stomach had subsided a bit, replaced by a heavy ache in his ribs. Laying on his back, Thorin met the worried eyes of his One and dread immediately washed over him. 

Oh, Bilbo  _ was _ going to kill him.

* * *

 

Thorin made it through the day alive, but not before Bilbo thoroughly tore him apart.

He was caring and concerned while Balin patched Thorin up, his gentle hands brushing Thorin’s hair from his face with the saddest eyes Thorin had seen from him in a while. It filled Thorin’s gut with rolling guilt; he hadn't meant to make Bilbo so upset. 

Once Thorin was bandaged and chewed out by Oín, being left with a threat not to damage his ribs anymore, Balin had finally explained just what had happened. 

Bilbo was calm at first, listening to the details of the state of Erebor’s guards and the constant abuse of their power. Balin had forgone speaking of the plan in the beginning, only explaining that Thorin had received his injures from defending the girl. But the fright in Dís’s normally bright eyes had made him guilty as well, and he ratted Thorin’s foolish plan out soon after. 

Bilbo had been silent for a moment while Dís grew angry immediately. Bilbo had a curious smile on his face as he stepped back and looked at Thorin, shaking his head as he let out a little laugh. Thorin looked at Balin with hope in his eyes, only to be shattered when Bilbo yelled in a wordless cry. 

He looked at Thorin with near murder on his face, his hands shaking as he fisted them in his hair, clearly holding back the urge to hit the dwarf. 

“Are you  _ thick _ ?!” 

Later on, Fíli and Kíli would recount to the rest of the Company that Bilbo had indeed cursed Thorin in three languages; Westron, Sindarin, and Khuzdul. The hobbit had picked up enough foul mouthed words during his time with the Company to fire them off rapidly, his face red with anger after. 

Thorin had shrunk back onto the couch, sheepishly taking in Bilbo’s insults. He knew he deserved it: after all, lying wasn't exactly a good thing to do, nor was letting Bilbo worry for nearly an hour before he found out that it had not been some random attack on Thorin. So, he simply lay there, giving the hobbit a weak smile when he had finished. 

“I love you?”

“ _ Idlig! _ ” Bilbo shouted, his hands clenching at his sides. He shook his head again and turned away, storming from their rooms entirely. Thorin tried to rise to follow him, but the quelling look from Dís made him lay back down. They sat in silence for a moment before she sighed and closed the door. Balin, Fíli and Kíli were all standing nearby, looking anywhere but at Thorin. 

“I would tell you how  _ stupid _ you are,” Dís began. “But I doubt there is anything I could say that Bilbo has not said in three different languages! What the  _ hell  _ were you thinking?”

“I was trying to fix a problem!” Thorin shot back. It was far easier to get mad at Dís, the ingrained sibling rivalry bearing its head. “I could not sit back and allow what happens down there to continue!”

“No one expects you to!” She shot back. “Mahal, Thorin! Do you not realize what it was like to see you like that? We’ve not even been here two weeks and you're already half beaten! I have been trying to put trust into this kingdom, and you have just nearly ruined it!”

“And you!” She reeled on Balin. “Why would you ever go along with this plan? You are his Head Advisor! You must stop him from acting like a complete idiot!”

Balin held up his hands, expression helpless. “The concept made sense. I assure you, I did not plan on having him end up this way! I had assumed that after one punch he would let Daín step in, but he wanted to the guards to keep talking.”

Dís pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing deeply. 

“Thorin, I am beyond angry with you. I do believe if I come near you I will throttle you. Do you realize how  _ lucky _ you are not to be more injured? We all saw people be murdered for looking the wrong way down there! And you think you can just  _ waltz _ into trouble without thinking of the consequences?”

“I knew you would all be mad.” He grumbled. Dís’s eyes flashed dangerously. 

“ _ Mad?  _ Thorin, I saw you in that corridor and thought we were going to have to flee for our lives again! I thought that my sons were going to have to see their family slain if we didn't leave quick enough! You knew I would be mad? Huh! You are beyond stupid!”

Dís left the room, slamming the door behind her. Fíli and Kíli scuffled their feet for a minute before following her, though in a more sedate manner. Thorin sighed. 

“It isn't that bad, is it? It's for the good of the kingdom.” He asked Balin. 

Balin made a hapless gesture. “It could've gone better. I just hope Daín finds what he needs from those three guards. I shall go see him, find out if there's been progress.”

Thorin nodded and waved his cousin off. Alone, Thorin just sighed and covered his face with his hands.

* * *

 

Thorin was visited by Frerin, as the rest of the company at some point during the rest of the day, each letting their thoughts on his actions be known. While none were quite as harsh as Bilbo and Dís has been, no one thought that it had been a very good plan to start with. Frerin had stayed the longest, taking his lunch with Thorin.

“I agree with Dís.” He said. “Even looking at you now, it makes me feel...uneasy.”

Thorin groaned and nodded. “I understand that. But I had to do something to start change. I haven't been allowed to a single meeting yet because I do not look the part. This required nothing more than for me to get hit a few times.”

“You didn't get hit just a few times.” Frerin replied mildly. “Frankly, it looks like someone took a hammer to your face. Surprised they didn't break that big ol’ nose of yours.”

Thorin shot him a rude gesture and ate his stew. Bombur was now working in the Royal Kitchens full time, and Thorin could tell exactly when it was one of his dishes. The dwarf had sent along the stew because it was simple to eat; Thorin’s jaw did still hurt from getting punched. 

“Bilbo’s very upset.” Thorin said quietly. “I don't think I’ve ever seen him so angry. Not even when I tried to leave him in the Shire.”

Frerin snorted into his cup. “Mahal, you are awful at this relationship thing.”

Thorin glared at him. “As if you are any better. I’m surprised you haven't wormed your way into someone's bed yet. All you do is sleep around; what makes you some expert?”

Frerin’s face sobered, and his characteristic smirk dropped away. He sat back in the upholstered chair, setting down his drink. 

“Never said I was an expert. But damn, Thorin, there's a reason why none of my lovers come hunting me down, feeling jilted or lied to. I tell them what I think, and hear what they think in return. I don't know if I’ll ever settle down and marry. But in the meantime, that doesn't mean I can't have fulfilling relationships. Doesn't mean I can't have experience. You keep leaving Bilbo out of the loop, I think. Don't you think that hurts him?”

Thorin felt even worse at his brother’s words. He didn't shut Bilbo out with malicious intent; he just wanted to protect him. There would be many things in their future that would drive the both of them mad with worry. Was it so wrong to shield Bilbo from it?

It was not until after dinner that Bilbo finally came back to their rooms. Thorin’s stomach had not agreed with him and he didn't eat, instead simply laying on the couch despondently. He missed Bilbo; only a few hours apart and he longed to hold him. 

Bilbo had opened the door quietly, his face drawn as he entered. Thorin eased himself up into a sitting position, meeting his eyes silently. Bilbo opened his mouth, then shut it again. 

“I’m sorry for running off earlier.” He finally said. 

“You needn't apologize.” Thorin replied earnestly, wincing as he moved to make room for Bilbo on the couch. The hobbit sat next to him without delay, his eyes obviously searching for clear pain in Thorin’s expression. Bilbo sat back against the couch, sighing. 

“I’m still angry. Do you understand why?”

“I lied to you.” Thorin said, feeling like a dwarfling being scolded. “I excluded you from my plans, even though you’ll be ruling beside me. I shut you out.”

“Well, yes, I’m a little  _ ticked _ about those things,” he sighed. “But that's not why I’m angry. You honestly don't know?”

All Thorin could do was shrug his shoulders. If it wasn't the communication issue, what was it?

Bilbo threw up his hands. “You're hopeless! You absolute cad, I’m angry because you never seem to think how this sort of thing makes me feel! Pray tell, if if was me who showed up half beaten would you be so calm?”

Thorin knew he would be mindless with anger if such a thing happened. His heart clenched at the thought, mind filling with sudden possibilities where Bilbo could be hurt. He simply shook his head. 

“You are always so concerned about my well being and my safety, but you never stop to think how much I care about yours! After all the family I lost, do you think I want to lose you as well? I love you, but you can't keep doing this to me!”

“I am trying to protect you!” Thorin’s voice rose sharply. “You are my One, and it is my duty to keep you safe!”

“Not at the cost of your own life!” Bilbo stood up, his voice trembling with emotion. “I am  _ your _ One as well! I never want to be parted from you, and yet you've tried leaving me once, and now you're off pursuing these, these suicidal missions!”

“I was not in the right state of mind when I tried to leave you in the Shire!” Thorin cried. “I was scared, and I was trying to do what I thought was right!”

“That doesn't mean it didn't  _ hurt me! _ ” Bilbo’s eyes were beginning to shine. “I’m scared, Thorin. I’m scared of what could happen here. This isn't like the Shire, where the worst thing is people ruining your tomatoes. You're going to be a king, and you will have enemies. I swear to you, if a day comes where you are no longer with me I should rather die than live without you!”

“You are stronger than that!” Thorin forced himself to stand, chest heaving with the strain of it. Bilbo stilled, his hands coming up to try and force Thorin back down. “Dwarves  _ cannot _ live without their Ones, that is a fact. But hobbits, they don't have Ones. Your soul is made to go on, with or without me.”

“Are you listening to me?” Bilbo said through clenched teeth. “I do not care what  _ you _ think my soul is made to do, I know what I am capable of. And I cannot, will not be left alone in this world.” Tears had welled up in Bilbo’s eyes, one finally slipping down his cheek. Thorin froze, his world stopping at the sight of Bilbo weeping. 

“Bilbo--”

“I know it will be dangerous, being king,” Bilbo continued. “and I want to do all I can to support you. But please,  _ please _ don't go where I cannot follow.”

Thorin’s feet carried him to Bilbo without another thought, Thorin wrapping his arms around Bilbo in a bone crushing hug. The movement pulled at his ribs and made them ache more, but he couldn't care as he pressed kisses into Bilbo’s hair, murmuring apologies. 

“Promise me,” Bilbo whispered raggedly. “Promise that you’ll stay as safe as you can. Use the same regard for your safety as you do mine.”

“I promise.” Thorin vowed.

* * *

 

By the end of the week, Thorin had healed, the gash on his cheek gone and his bruises fading to yellow. 

He’d thoroughly apologized for making everyone worry over dinner, rather expecting to receive the same dressing downs again. Instead, the Company and family simply dismissed it, telling Thorin they were glad he was safe and whole and that was that. The meal delved into its usual antics, joined by the official news of Dwalin and Orí’s wedding. Bilbo had sent a side glance to Dorí, who was looking quite relieved that his slip up hadn't made it back to his brother. 

It was a merry affair, one that Thorin and Bilbo had both missed dearly. Dinner ended with a consensus; each night, the Company and all family should try to join for dinner. It would be impossible some nights no doubt, but their group had never been one to give up.    
  


The next day, Dorí had finished Thorin and Bilbo’s wardrobe and Dorí’s assistants had brought it by, making them try on each item to ensure a correct fit. 

Bilbo’s wardrobe was much the same, though his shirts were made of a finer linen, and his waistcoats were heavily embroidered with dwarvish patterns. His dinner jackets were replaced by belted surcoats, and when Bilbo was dressed in a full ensemble, Thorin felt his heart stop. It looked so normal on him, so right. Bilbo looked himself over in a mirror, twisting and turning as he inspected the clothes. He had a smile on his face, clearly impressed. 

“I knew Dorí would do a fine job.” He said, expression utterly satisfied. 

Thorin’s clothes were much finer than what he was used to, the fabric stiff and new compared to his worn tunics. His tunics were now high necked, with intricate embroidery decorating the chest and collar. The surcoats had fur at the tops, and his belts were thicker, with the buckles inlaid with gemstones. Dorí’s assistants had laid out different combinations for him to wear, and once he was completely dressed, Thorin could hardly recognize himself. 

His beard was beginning to grow longer, the self imposed cropping of it having fallen away. He’d kept it short out of respect for his grandfather and parents; now that his true place had been realized, it was only right he allow it to grow. For the first time, Thorin could envision himself on the throne, could see himself as king of Erebor. 

The assistants had been given clear instructions not to do away with Thorin and Bilbo’s old clothes, and they instead tucked them away into boxes for safekeeping. All together, the new and old clothes hardly fit into the two closets that Bilbo and Thorin had in their bedchambers. 

“Oh, don't worry about that.” One assistant, a young male, had assured them. “The Royal Chambers are much larger. You’ll have a separate room for dressing there, and it’ll give us more room to add on.”

Bilbo and Thorin exchanged a glance, neither aware that they hadn't been in the Royal Chambers this whole time. Though, it did make sense. Daín had been busy trying to repair the kingdom; clearing out Frór’s old room was the least of his concern. 

“When will we be moving into those rooms?” Thorin asked. The assistant could only shrug. 

“I do not know, my lord. Soon, I should think. It would make sense to have you and Master Baggins situated before your coronation.”

The assistants finished up before 9, and just when Thorin and Bilbo had begun to undress from the outfits they had been left in, Deíden came knocking. 

Thorin simply heaved the fur topped surcoat back on and went to answer the door. 

Deíden didn't wait for Thorin to tell him to enter, simply walking inside as he looked appraisingly at Thorin’s clothes. 

“Fine ensemble you have, I’m sure the rest are just as good. Is Master Baggins also dressed?”

“Yes, I am!” Bilbo popped his head out of the bedchambers. “It feels very formal. Must I wear this at all times?”

“You should be fully dressed any time you are in public,” Deíden said. “But in your personal rooms you may wear whatever you please. Bear in mind, you may be required to leave when duty calls.”

Bilbo walked into the common room, and Thorin saw the exact moment that it dawned in Deíden’s eyes that hobbits looked truly stunning in dwarvish fashion. 

“Are we needed for something now?” Thorin asked, expression smug. Deíden took his eyes off of Bilbo and nodded, clearing his throat. 

“Yes, actually. You both have a meeting with the Royal Council right now. In the future, you shall know of meetings ahead of time, but seeing as how you are both ready, there is no sense in not having you attend today. Are you both ready?”

Thorin paused, feeling utterly unprepared. Even though Balin had him up to date, and he had already risked his life for the good of the kingdom, somehow he felt like he needed more time. 

“Yes, I think so.” Bilbo answered, smiling over at Thorin. The dwarf nodded to Deíden, then squared his shoulders. 

“Lead the way.”

The meetings of the Royal Council were held in a large room not far from Daín’s office. In the middle of the room was a round table where 14 chairs sat, all made of the same thick, polished wood. There was no special seat for the king, and it took some of the weight off of Thorin’s shoulders. When they entered, the rest of the Royal Council had already arrived. None were seated, but dwarves were standing near their typical chairs, speaking with one another. 

While Balin did not technically have a spot on the Council yet, Dwalin had already begun his job as Head Guard and was standing by his chair looking rather smug. Bilbo snorted when he saw the dwarf’s self satisfied smirk, causing Dwalin to grin. 

“Nice of you to join us.” He greeted them when they approached him. “Thorin, don't you look  _ pretty _ .”

“Better than you could hope to.” Thorin smirked, roughly elbowing Dwalin. They both snickered to themselves, Bilbo rolling his eyes with a grin. Balin came over to the group as well, looking at both Thorin and Bilbo with an approving nod. 

“Dorí did fine work as usual. I’m quite impressed by what he made for you, Bilbo.”

“I think I’m lucky to get away without jewelry.” Bilbo laughed. “Though, I’m sure he’ll find a way to add more onto what I already have later.”

Balin smiled. “Well of course. Just wait until you see what you must wear for the coronation.”

“When is the coronation exactly?” Thorin asked. “Surely not for a few more months.”

Balin and Dwalin glanced at each other, the same look of mischief passing between them. 

“The Council’s been thinkin’ about another month until you're crowned.”

Bilbo and Thorin’s mouths fell open, their expressions a mirror look of shock. 

“A  _ month _ ?”

“That must be too soon--”

“Please be seated!” Deíden’s voice clear over the room, capturing the attention of everyone. Balin ignored their exclamations and led them over to their seats, his smile having turned into a amused smirk. 

“Mornin’ everyone!” Daín said once they had all sat down. “For those that haven’t met ‘em, I present Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins. My successor, and his future consort.”

There was a round of applause that made Bilbo blush and Thorin shift in his seat. He wondered if he would ever get used to the level of respect his position gave him. 

“Today’s agenda is as follows,” Deíden took over. “Master Dwalin’s report on the questioning of arrested guards, and courses of action for debate. Then, preparations for the succession of the throne, the coronation, and the Royal Wedding.”

* * *

 

Dwalin had been given verbal testimony on what orders were carried out that called for the oppression of Erebor’s lower classes, as well as what ranks were expected to follow it. Dwalin had pages of names of guards that had abused their power, and were awaiting arrest on the Council’s approval. He called for the hiring of new guards, suggesting that each employed guard be evaluated before deciding whether to be replaced or not. It would be tedious and time consuming, but it was necessary to begin to fix the corrupt military and police system of Erebor. 

The Royal Council gave their approval and proceeded to discuss additional measures. Thorin’s personal opinions were called for, as well as questions regarding crime in the Shire. An outsider’s opinion could be incredibly useful, especially coming from a place as peaceful as the Shire. Both Thorin and Bilbo found themselves easing as the meeting continued, their voices strong and clear as they received the first taste of royal leadership they would be expected to have. 

Preparations for the succession of the throne included Thorin’s naming of an heir. Daín had suggested Frerin, but Thorin was backed by Balin and Dwalin in the belief that he wouldn't want it. Instead, it was suggested that the new line of inheritance begin with Fíli and Kíli. While the throne would always go to the next eligible male heir, in the event that neither Fíli or Kíli could fulfill the throne, Dís would be selected before it defaulted to Balin and continued down the next closely related line. 

Thorin knew Dís would approve of his naming of Fíli as heir; he was clever and a natural leader. It would be many years before Thorin’s death, and he would still have decades to grow and mature before the throne began to call for him. 

The talk of the coronation and their wedding left Thorin and Bilbo speechless. The Council was of the opinion to combine the two events into one; first the wedding, then the coronation directly following. Thorin and Bilbo’s life narratives were currently being established through Orí’s work as Royal Scribe, and the information would make its way through the mountain. They were truly being viewed as a fabled love story; a child of Mahal and a child of Yavanna to be destined for each other, just as the two gods were for themselves. 

Though this was the first either Bilbo or Thorin had heard of it, apparently the tale of their first meeting and the result of it had already begun to spread. Thorin was established as a talented, dedicated smith while Bilbo was pictured as a generous, accepting creature that would seek harm upon none. They were both assured that it would be harmless if certain things were embellished; dwarves loved a good romance just as much as any other race, and the chronicle of Bilbo and Thorin’s relationship was sure to be a winner amongst Erebor’s citizens. 

Balin and Dwalin seemed besides themselves with mirth about it all, and it was with a sinking feeling that Thorin realized his moping and pining for Bilbo would grow to epic proportions. Did Orí have dirt on Bilbo as well? Or would he be the only one made out to be a lovesick fool?

The matter of stories was moved away from soon enough, and the meeting ended with important details set in stone. 

In one month, on Durin’s Day, Bilbo and Thorin would marry and Thorin would be crowned as the new king of Erebor. The entire kingdom would be invited to attend both events, as would foreign diplomats and leaders. Bilbo didn't seem put out that his family would not be there; he would send letters to his aunts and cousins, as well as the Gamgees and give them a full account of it when it was done with. It was far simpler than either of them expected. 

It wasn't until later, when Bilbo was fast asleep in Thorin’s arms that the dwarf finally felt the stirrings of discontentment. 

Thorin had been planning his proposal to Bilbo for months before Erebor had ever come into the picture, intending to bring him back to Ered Luin as his husband. He had planned different scenarios, different gifts, so in love that he could not have picked just one to follow. Bilbo had ended up exchanging the last gift and taken the uncertainty right from his hands; a fistful of wildflowers and a mad chase across the Shire had not been one of Thorin’s ideas, but beggars could not be choosers. 

Thorin wanted to repay Bilbo back for loving him and for not giving up in the face of Thorin’s pigheadedness. It was because of Bilbo that Thorin would soon be crowned; had his door never jammed, perhaps they would've never met, and Gandalf would've never exposed Frór’s deceit. Thorin would still be just a smith, only one half of a whole who never realized what he was missing. 

As sleep overcame him, Thorin realized that consorts did not have crowns. Past consorts had worn intricate hair clips and beard accessories, but neither of those fit Bilbo. He was Thorin’s equal, his One, and deserved the same honor that Thorin would receive when he put on his crown. 

Hair clips and beard beads would not fit the hobbit, but Thorin knew something that would.

* * *

 

The next week flew by, and they adjusted to their routine easily. Thorin and Bilbo attended court with Daín each day, their insight beginning to overshadow Daín’s as they accepted their roles as leaders. Meetings with the Royal Council and the planning for the coronation and wedding were becoming hectic with anticipation, but it was the excitement that made them all the more enjoyable. 

At Balin’s suggestion, Thorin and Bilbo began to explore the kingdom each time Orí released a new chronicle of their relationship. It felt a bit absurd; they weren't  _ special _ . But as they walked through the corridors of Erebor, now bustling with more activity than ever without the threat of corrupt guards, and were greeted with bows and congratulations, they both had to admit that it did seem to be working in their favor. 

Thorin had meetings with Daín each night, helping his cousin with paperwork and appeals from the court. As most of it would fall upon Thorin once he was crowned, Bilbo did not come with him. He instead worked with the Royal Council on other matters, using his experience in farming and trade to begin rebuilding Erebor’s economy and assets. 

The only catch was that Daín needed no help with paperwork. Instead, each night found Thorin in the immense communal smithy, diligently working away at a project. Only he and Daín knew of the project, and Daín was happy to keep it to himself. Gemstones and decorations were stripped from the Royal Chambers in preparation for Thorin and Bilbo’s simpler tastes, and along the way, Thorin made good use for particularly beautiful stones and crystals. 

At the end of the week was Dwalin and Orí’s wedding. It was held in the afternoon, to be immediately followed by a long feast and a celebration that would go into the night. 

The ceremony was stunning; held in one of Erebor’s large occasion halls, Dwalin and Orí married at the feet of an immense statue of Mahal. As the tradition dictated, both wore the other’s colors. Orí wore a shade of deep wine red, while Dwalin sported forest green with warm brown. The ceremony called for heavily decorated tunics and formal coats, completed by the heavy, gem inlaid rings that Dwalin had forged. Such was his gift to Orí; in a relationship where neither was a smith or jeweler, the rings would come from an outside dwarf. In return, Orí gave Dwalin a shirt of chainmail. It would be useful in his job as Head Guard, and the handmade item would seem to protect him more than mass made amor.

Bilbo held Thorin’s hand during the entire ceremony, his cheeks red and warm in the candlelight that surrounded the stone altar. He looked so blissful and happy, clearly envisioning their own rapidly approaching wedding. It would be far grander than this, but Thorin knew that Bilbo would be pleased with anything; the hobbit would've married him in the dirt of the Shire with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and loved every second of it. 

Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand tight as the ceremony ended with a kiss, and a round of applause and whoops. 

The following party lasted hours, first beginning with dinner. It was nearly a feast, complete with the favorites of the two grooms and anything else that was fit. The compliments went to the chef; Bombur laughing jovially as he accepted them. 

After dinner, wedding presents were opened. There was everything the two would need, from bed linen sets to new clothing, and everything in between. Bilbo had given them a book of Shire drinking songs while Thorin had crafted an axe for Dwalin and a set of knives for Orí, to be used for the sharpening of his quills and charcoal sticks. 

But Thorin had another gift. Dressed in the same paper as those that Orí’s knives had been wrapped in, it slipped past Bilbo’s notice. Thorin had told Dwalin and Orí of his plan ahead of time, not wanting to take away from their day. Neither minded; it was what Bilbo deserved after all he had given them. 

As Orí and Dwalin thanked everybody, Thorin pulled the gift from where he’d hidden it amongst the others. Bilbo had been turned to Bofur saying something, and was completely oblivious as Thorin got down on one knee in front of him. 

Everyone went quiet, with Bofur’s eyebrows rising with a smile. Bilbo gave him a curious look before turning. The hobbit looked at Thorin in confusion. 

“Thorin?”

“Hold out your hands.”

Bilbo did as he was told, and Thorin pulled the gift from behind him. Still wrapped, it didn't look like much. Bilbo handled it carefully nevertheless, his fingers running over the surface as he tried to figure out what it was. 

Thorin was suddenly caught with hesitation, wondering if what he had made was truly worthy of his One. Dwalin rolled his eyes from his place next to Orí, while Orí waved his hands encouragingly. Thorin swallowed and nodded for Bilbo to open it. 

“Bilbo,” he began. “I had planned to ask you to marry me long before Erebor had ever entered my mind. I had hoped you would accept me as a common smith, and I had planned to ask you before departing for Ered Luin. You however, seized the opportunity thankfully, and now we are here.”

Bilbo’s eyes were wide as he pulled the last of the paper off, now looking upon Thorin’s gift to him. He had an incredulous expression, mouth open in awe. 

“Never have Erebor’s consorts worn a crown. Their place has never truly been at the king’s side. But here, I ask you to stand beside me. To rule, to lead. Finally, I ask you to marry me, to let me ask for your hand the way I had dreamed of.”

Bilbo let out a laugh, his face breaking into a wide grin. His eyes were wet as he nodded. 

“Oh Yavanna, you are so dramatic!” He laughed again as Thorin stood and put his hands over Bilbo’s as the hobbit, and now the rest of their friends and family marvelled at the circlet that Thorin had crafted. 

It was a gorgeous piece of work; curving out in a v like shape from the middle of the forehead, it was composed of oak leaves connected by swirling stems. In the middle of the crown, one lead stood up, the main structure of the circlet meeting below it and holding a beautiful, glittering gem. Pieces of the same gem were scattered in the rest of the circlet, embedded into the the stems of the leaves and along the curves of it.

“ _Nûlukh'aban._ ” Bofur whistled appreciatively. “Moonstone. That's mighty rare. How’d you get your hands on that one?”

“There were many gems that Frór had hoarded.” Thorin replied simply. “All of them were being taken from the walls and furniture and brought back to the treasury. I simply picked what I needed.”

“It's so light.” Bilbo murmured, turning it around in his hands. “I’m rather afraid I’ll break it.”

“That won't happen, lad.” Gloín’s shock was evident in his tone. “That's mithril, strongest thing in the world. Rarer than that stone, rarest than anything a dwarf has ever mined for. Frór had mithril?”

“More than you’d expect.” Thorin told him, thinking of the sheer extravagance Frór had decorated his rooms with. There were more precious gems in the dwarf’s bathroom than Thorin had ever seen. He’d only taken what he needed, and had easily let the rest go back to the treasury. He didn't feel the call to riches as his predecessor had; his heart and mind called only for Bilbo. 

Bilbo was staring at Thorin with such astonishment that he was nearly frozen. Thorin opened his mouth to speak and was cut off when Bilbo suddenly grabbed his face and jerked him down in a kiss, wrapping his arms around Thorin’s neck. Everyone else laughed or whistled, especially when Bilbo broke the kiss and Thorin looked near drunk off of his love for the hobbit. 

Bilbo gave to circlet to Thorin to place on his head, but was cut off by Balin. 

“Sorry lads, but you can't do that. First crowning of the consort will take place at the coronation, just the same as the king.” Balin did sound disappointed, but they all understood where he was coming from. Neither Thorin or Bilbo were on the throne yet, and such a crowning truly should wait for the proper pomp and circumstance. 

Instead, Bilbo wrapped his circlet up again, beaming the whole time. As he smoothed the paper over his crown, he looked at Thorin and grinned. 

Only a few weeks more until they were married, forever and inexplicably joined together as one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! i just moved into college and life has been a bit hectic.  
> next chapter is the coronation and the wedding!! sorry for all the political and society stuff i have going on right now, but i really wanted to do some world building that goes beyond what is normally talked about. let me know if there's anything special you would like to see in the next chapter!
> 
> shekâl - coward  
> idlig - fuck off  
> here's the link to the circlet i based the one in this chapter off of!  
> http://www.camiasdesigns.com/wp-content/uploads/forest-leaf-circlet.jpg


End file.
